10 The Secret Identity of the Thin Prefect

10. THE SECRET IDENTITY OF THE THIN PREFECT The Kidnappers threw the boys over their shoulders again and strode through several large courtyards, busy with soldiers and cooks and horses and people selling things to each other. They walked up some steps and through a door into a brightly lit, gorgeously painted room. This was the Consul's Palace. Tapestries hung from the walls, couches were draped in silken covers, the mosaic floor was warm and toasty underfoot. The Romans certainly knew how to make themselves comfy. In one corner of the room, the Fat Consul was having his tonsils tickled with a feather so he could vomit and fit in some more Monstrous Nightmare Crème Br.lée for pudding. In another, the Thin Prefect was having his temples massaged. He looked up when they came in and gave an 'Aha!' of evil satisfaction. At the Prefect's feet lay a particularly large Gronckle, a dragon about two metres high with a spiny ruff around its neck. When they came into the

room it heaved its enormous bulk on to its thick muscly legs and an ominous growling began deep in its thick bull neck. It leaped at the First Kidnapper, who dropped Fishlegs with a scream. 'Stop!' shouted the Thin Prefect in Dragonese. Very poor Dragonese, but Dragonese nonetheless. The Gronckle had grabbed the First Kidnapper by the leg in his immense jaws, and the First Kidnapper uselessly drummed his fists on the gigantic creature's great, warty back. The Gronckle had been enjoying itself, gnawing away at the Kidnapper's knee, its great tail lashing from side to side; but at the Thin Prefect's command it reluctantly stopped. 'Think you.' The Thin Prefect had a terrible accent and he kept on getting the words wrong. 'You can hold on to the Kidnapper now.' The Gronckle didn't move. 'I said "Hold on to him!"' shouted the Thin Prefect crossly. The Gronckle blinked at him and still didn't move. 'Oh for Thor's sake, you stupid alligator…' swore the Thin Prefect in Norse. From his pocket he

got out his half of How to Speak Dragonese and started flicking through it, muttering to himself, 'Release, release– what's the word for release?' 'I think you'll find the word is "release", sir?' advised Hiccup politely. 'Thank you,' sneered the Thin Prefect. '"Release",' he said to the Gronckle, who opened its jaws and the Kidnapper dropped, sprawling on to the floor. 'As you can see,' drawled the Thin Prefect, 'I need the other half of your book, Hiccup.' Hiccup tried not to look as terrified as he felt. 'How do you know my name?' he asked. 'And why are we speaking in Norse, not in Latin?' The Thin Prefect smiled. 'We have met before, you see, Hiccup, many, many times. Why don't you look a little closer?' Hiccup looked up into the Thin Prefect's eyes, and he gasped as he finally realised who it was. The man was bald; completely hairless all over. Even his eyelashes had disappeared. But bald as he was, and dressed in a toga, this was definitely Hiccup's arch-enemy– Alvin the Treacherous, Chief of the Outcast Tribe and the wickedest man in the Inner Isles.

'So,' hissed Alvin, 'we meet AGAIN, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third…' Hiccup and Fishlegs gazed at him in utter astonishment. The last time they had seen Alvin he had been inside the stomach of the Monstrous Strangulator at the bottom of the underground sea- cavern.* How on earth had he got out of THAT tricky situation? And what was he doing posing as a Roman? 'I see you are wondering,' smiled Alvin nastily, 'how I got myself out of THAT tricky situation?' Fishlegs and Hiccup nodded. 'It's an interesting story,' spat Alvin, his eyes hissing with fury. 'I know you'll enjoy it… I cut myself out of the stomach of the dead Monstrous Strangulator with my sword, and then since you had so kindly ABANDONED me without any dragons I couldn't get out of the cavern by the sea…' 'We didn't abandon you!' squeaked Fishlegs. 'We didn't know you were alive! How could we know?' Alvin ignored him. '…so I had no choice but to go through the Caliban Caves. THREE WHOLE

MONTHS it took me, creeping through the darkness, eating little cavern dragons raw, licking the walls for water… and then when I finally emerged into the light on your vile little island and stole a ship back to my own land, what happens? My own people SHUN me– they refuse to have me as their Chief! Because down there in the darkness, in the vile belly of that Strangulator… something happened to me…' Alvin's voice became more and more savage. 'The stomach juices of that infernal creature have made my hair fall out. And whoever has heard of a hairless Viking? I was thrown out of my own Tribe and forced into exile. Luckily, I have some Roman blood on my mother's father's side… and the Empire has use for a clever person like myself. I told them I had thought of a way they could conquer the Vikings by turning the Tribes against each other.' 'TRAITOR!' yelled Fishlegs. 'Exactly,' smiled Alvin. 'And I also have my own plans for a… DRAGON ARMY.' Alvin drew his right arm out of his toga for the first time. An arm that ended not in a hand but in a huge curved HOOK made out of the most brilliant gold. 'I made this hook,' he said casually, 'out of a

single cup of that Treasure. It was the only thing I could carry through the Caliban Caves. But I want the rest of it– I need the rest of it… 'With a DRAGON ARMY I can get the Treasure,' continued Alvin. 'The dragons can swim down and bring it up for me. But you know what I need first, Hiccup…' Alvin drew the point of his hook right against Hiccup's chest. 'I need the other half of that book of yours, How to Speak Dragonese. I need that book to command the dragons in my Dragon Army. Where is your half of the book, Hiccup? If you tell me I will let